We Will Still Be
by syndomatic
Summary: Valentine's Day doesn't really suit Tappei. — ensemble cast; a series of very short stories.
1. Commiseration — Tanimura, Yoshida

The amusement park is loud, boisterous, packed with people, but the bench she's sitting on feels barren and lonely. The vanilla ice cream she's nursing in her hands is starting to drip, threatening to fall and stick on the space between her thumb and forefinger, and she doesn't think the day can get any worse than this.

Kenta's plan is working smoothly; Miiko and Tappei are somewhere out there, conveniently isolated from the rest of the group and inexplicably caught together in an attraction thanks to Kenta's carefully-planned, thinly-concealed pushes in the right direction. The lengths he will go to making them end up together infuriates and amazes her at the same time.

Miho bites hard into the last of the ice cream, feeling the biting chill seep into her mouth along with the saccharine taste. Neither the melting ice cream nor the fact that it's all Kenta's fault succeed in offering her any form of consolation, but she still looks for one. It's always nice to have the benefit of the doubt, anyway.

"Can I sit here?"

She doesn't look up from her shoes. Miho's never heard Yoshida talk much, but she recognizes his voice instantly: calm, smooth, perfectly approachable. He is a person of few words, but when he does speak he stands out from everyone else in how restrained he sounds. Like he's holding back another word, another sentence, a whole paragraph of unsaid intentions. He hides it well, but Miho notices when he does slip up; vaguely, she wonders if anyone else does. "Sure."

"Thank you," he says, settling beside her. He's holding confectionaries in his hands, sweets and skewered fried snacks, still warm and appetizing. Miho knows he didn't buy them all for himself. She refrains from commenting; she has no idea where Miiko is, and besides, it's not polite. Her shoes skid along the ground as she kicks her legs back and forth; she tries not to find solace at the fact that Yoshida is miserable, too.

"What are you doing here, Tanimura?" he asks, then, head turned to look at her. The bright lollipop in his hands doesn't suit him; it'd look goofy if it weren't so sad. "Weren't you supposed to be with-"

"I took a short break," she cuts in, with a flippant tone. "It's really hot today, you know? I got a little tired, so I told the others to go without me." Miho tries to remain unflappable, but the smile she offers him betrays her by crooking just so to the right. He doesn't point it out, thankfully, though she thinks that he might've let a suspicious look slip. She disregards it. "What about you, Yoshida?"

"Same as you," he replies, chuckling. She isn't convinced; then again, he probably wasn't, either. "It's a nice coincidence, isn't it?"

Two miserable people meeting on the same spot; a pleasant coincidence, that is. Miho bites the inside of her cheek, holding back the bitterness from seeping into her voice. "I guess you could say that."

"You could." Yoshida laughs.

She nods, absently. Her shoes are dusty from being kicked around so much, but she still does it.

"You know, Tanimura," he begins, and then smiles, all charm and warmth. Miho takes notice, and falters, but doesn't fall. "I think the color white suits you well."

It takes her a few seconds to register the compliment. "... Thanks, Yoshida," she replies, softly, ignoring the color of Miiko's dress, ignoring the person she wore the dress for (!) just momentarily. Yoshida inches towards her, just a little bit, as if a tentative experiment, and she chooses to ignore that as well.

It's just nice to have the benefit of the doubt.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **why is the archive so barren?

the only thing I can manage to contribute is a 500-ish word drabble of extremely questionable quality featuring a crackpair. I'm sorry. I promise I'll write something better, something more well-thought out (no promises about the pairing tho) one day. ONE DAY. i swear.

Also: keindonesiaan saya terkonfirmasi begitu saya ngepost fanfic ini haha


	2. Make-Believe — Miho, Yoshiki

She lets Nomura hold her hand.

It's a short, fleeting moment, and that's all it's ever going to be, because she hadn't intended it to be anything more. If anything, it's just so that he can let himself pretend. It's not like Nomura is a bad person, or anything; he at least deserves to be given the benefit of the doubt. Miho inhales briefly, allowing him to savor the contact.

The boy's eyes — small, dim, absolutely _nothing_ like Tappei's — narrow minutely at the unpaved road ahead of them, at the stray gravels crunching beneath the sole of their shoes, as he takes in the gesture. He keeps his serious face on, mouth pursed and nose scrunched pensively, and remains firmly unconvinced.

Miho looks away pointedly before he can notice her staring, before Nomura can indulge himself with the wrong ideas, and then looks straight ahead at the almost-darkness like she wants to prove something.

The hour is late; the sky is dull, starless, saturated with clouds. They can't even see the moon anymore. The only light that guides them is the bonfire, roaring and crackling from the schoolyard, far away; from the distance, the tiny spot of flame blinks back brightly at her when she catches sight of it. Miho's footsteps are still slow, slumped, dragging, and Nomura's isn't much better. They've lagged behind; the other students probably have gathered there already, she thinks.

The permeating silence is only broken by his voice.

"Tanimura," he begins, voice low in the stillness. Miho's attention is successfully grabbed; she turns to look at him, preparing a bitter remark to drive him off.

The expression that greets her is firmly blank, eyes cryptic, piercing straight through the bone and into the marrow. She hadn't expected anything less, but she still falters at it.

"I understand." His voice is monotone, the sentence a simple statement. It cuts effortlessly through her.

Miho does not reply.

They're still holding hands. It's only because she allows them to; only because she likes to make him think that she still cares, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **standard apologies apply kthx bye please write more in this archive


	3. Claptrap — Tappei, Kenta

**bewildered madness**

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

"Hey, Kenta," begins Tappei one day, when they're the only two left at the park, absently tossing the basketball in his hand into the ring. It drops easily, falling before it bounces back far enough for Kenta to catch.

"Hm?" Kenta grasps the ball with two hands, clutching it to his chest before he lets it hit the ground once more with a thud. Tappei's expression is oddly serious and he's not sure what to think of it; he maintains a casual, lighthearted expression as he dribbles the ball aimlessly against the ground, but doesn't let his guard down.

"I wanted to ask you something," Tappei says, his fingers ruffling his unruly blond hair into something even messier. Kenta pauses at the other boy's dawdling; Tappei is the sort of person who prefers to get to the point. His uncharacteristically quiet voice isn't helping.

"What's this all about?" Kenta offers him a smile, hoping to console.

Tappei inhales before he says, absolutely straight-faced, "Are you and Yamada going out?"

It takes a few seconds for Kenta to fully register the question. When he does, his jaw almost drops. The ball slips away from his hand and rolls away, before hitting the metal pole of the ring with a dull thud.

"What," he tries, blinking, hands still locked in dribbling position even though the ball is long gone. "What are you talking about."

"You're not?" For half a second, Tappei's face looks genuinely confused; Kenta almost wishes he brought a camera or something with him. He glances down at his shoes, presumably embarrassed, and Kenta swallows down the urge to laugh. "I dunno, you two seem awfully close sometimes."

"I've been her friend since, like, preschool," Kenta explains, scratching at the nape of his neck. "Yamada's just that kind of person." The thought of them doing lovey-dovey stuff passes by his head before he can stop himself. Yamada's a good friend, but she's no romantic, and the imagery of them actually going out cuts at him for some reason. It's so wrong. What the hell was Tappei thinking?

"Oh," the blond boy replies. "Okay."

Kenta narrows his eyes at him, suspicious. "Say we are going out," he ventures. "What do you care about it?"

"Nothing," Tappei replies almost too quickly, expectant worry flashing by his eyes. "It's nothing, okay."

Kenta's got him cornered like a mouse. He takes a step forward, then another, savoring his discomfort greedily with a leering smile. "Oh, really?" he presses, and then laughs. "I thought you were jealous for a second there!"

Tappei waits one, two seconds before he assumes full-on defensive mode. Kenta does his best to run away from the other boy's bout of explosive denial, inwardly wishing he'd be honest to himself for once.

.

.

.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **ha ha. I am an unfunny person yet I try to write crack. This is when they were in fourth grade, btw, so Kenta and Yukko aren't going out yet. Inspired by that flashback story from the fanbook where it's revealed that Miiko and Kenta know each other from daycare.


	4. Ingenuity — Kenta, Tappei

**fountain of roses**

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

"They don't suit you," he comments offhandedly, side-eyeing the assortment of Valentine's Day gifts piled high on Tappei's desk. It's the late afternoon; the bell has rung, and they're only sticking around at class because they have clean-up duty today. Kenta spares a glance at Tappei, the other boy's expression plain and unperturbed, before leaning the broom against someone's desk and sighing forlornly. Those poor girls. "You're no romantic."

Tappei glances away from the window he's dusting. "Sorry," he offers, in a mumble, though he doesn't sound like he is; it's like he doesn't know what exactly he's supposed to be apologizing for. It's funny how someone so oblivious could be so deeply-rooted in denial.

Kenta muffles his laughter with one hand, the other picking up a plastic bag that's fallen underneath the desk. It's clear vinyl, the top of it tied up securely with a pink ribbon. Inside it is a lovely, girlish arrangement of (slightly jumbled after the fall) tiny chocolates, topped off with glaze and sprinkles—undoubtedly saccharine and therefore, unappealing for Tappei—a red rose wrapped in plastic, and a greeting card stapled to it (if Kenta squints, he thinks he can make out some of the words written lovingly inside).

Kenta cradles the bag in one arm, a hand patting out the dust stuck to one of its sides. Everything about the present screams 'Tanimura'; it's as if her name is written all over it in bold, capital letters. He would've called it 'tacky' (even for his standards), but then again, 'passionate' would've been a more appropriate word to put it. So is Tanimura. That's just the kind of person she is.

_How unfortunate_, Kenta thinks, placing the bag back on the desk, propping it up against the classroom wall so that it doesn't fall off again. Then, he turns around on his heel to grab the broom. From the other side of the room, he hears Tappei grumble distastefully about how _some_ people just don't have any regard for cleanliness, and he can't help but chuckle.

* * *

><p>"Did Yamada give you any?" he asks casually, and then takes a small bite out of Yukko's handmade chocolate. It's sweet, milky, but a faint hint of bitterness still lingers on; he's gotten used to it, just as Yukko's gotten used to him and his multitude of inadequacies. He savors the taste, chewing thoughtfully, and then looks away from the quiet street they're walking on and to Tappei.<p>

The other boy's right hand is weighed down by the plastic bag he's carrying, the inside of it crammed full with gooey chocolates and adoring gifts and pristine letters which bear no name. He'll definitely have a hell of a time finishing all of them once he gets home.

Tappei's expression remains absent and aloof as he walks alongside him; Kenta pauses, thinking of one of Shimura's shoujo mangas he'd read once, and then thinks of himself, all plainness and approachable charms of a bakery boy (or so they've said). The small chunks of chocolate melt slowly inside his mouth, and he swallows, tongue feeling heavy.

"No," the blond boy replies, after a second. His free hand reaches out to zip his jacket all the way up, and he breathes out, relenting to the bitingly cold weather sooner than Kenta does.

"Don't feel bad," Kenta teases, curbing the urge to give him a pat on the back. "It's probably just karma."

"Shut up," Tappei says blandly, apparently in no mood to entertain, but Kenta still manages to catch the slight way the light in his eyes shift and change. "Who cares, anyway."

"Whatever you say," he concludes casually, letting his voice trail off in ambiguity. They continue walking together until they reach a crossroad, and Tappei excuses himself with a smile and a hurriedly-said, "see you tomorrow!"

Kenta replies with a silent wave, watching the blond boy's back disappear into a corner; if he notices how Tappei's turning left instead of right, he doesn't say it.

.

.

.

* * *

><p><strong>an: **this doesn't actually match the theme at all… also, squint your eyes a little bit and try to spot the slash.


End file.
